


Take me to church

by RavenAurelieChoiseau



Category: Sterek - Fandom, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Anal Sex, Boys Kissing, Comfort Sex, Cora Hale died in an accident, Derek and Stiles really just need one another, Derek left after the fire but comes back ten years later, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Hurt Stiles Stilinski, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Masturbation, Mates Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Mating Bond, Mutual Pining, Protective Derek, Sad with a Happy Ending, Sheriff Stilinski Died, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is Noah, Smut, Stiles is a Deputy, Werewolf Turning, slightly AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 04:16:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16189886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenAurelieChoiseau/pseuds/RavenAurelieChoiseau
Summary: Derek Hale leaves Beacon Hills after the fire, together with his uncle and his sister. Stiles stays on, eventually becoming a deputy.When both lose someone close to them, Derek returns to Beacon. They unexpectedly meet again in a grief support group. Stiles realizes something links him to the wolf which is more than physical attraction.Derek has always known Stiles would be his mate.





	Take me to church

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy this take on slightly older Derek and Stiles. The deaths of Cora and Noah are mentioned, though not in much detail at all. I didn't think that warranted a warning but I'll give a heads up here.

Basements are places for discarded things. For disused, defective, or damaged objects that are not easily disposed of because sentiment clings to them like dust.   
It’s where memories are boxed and shoved into a dark corner, whereas hope is left easily accessible. Towards the front. Labeled.  
**Baby clothes. Toys. Stroller.**    
Often it’s much less poetic. It’s the place tangled Christmas lights come to hibernate.   
  
Church basements aren’t much different. Every evening they transform into a haven for the broken, the beaten, and the damned.  
Some are the forgotten, some have forgotten themselves, and some pray to be remembered.   
  
These defeated souls, with longing in their pockets, shakily search fliers for the acronym that best fits their iniquity.   
Others are merely victims of circumstance. Events beyond their control. The grievers of the world.  
  
Stiles and Derek.

Stiles thumbs the rim of the styrofoam cup he holds in his trembling hand, mind racing to come up with some witty banter. Before better judgment makes him change his mind, he moves into view. This dark, brooding creature he’s run into at the meetings has a hold over him. He’s thought of nothing else for the past two weeks.  
“Hey,” is the best his brain can do under pressure. But he has such a pretty smile, perhaps that will make up for his lack of creativity?   
  
The raven-haired man half-turns, returning the greeting. He simpers when he recognizes who it is.

“I’ve seen you here a couple times.” The brunette scolds himself for being so lame. What an opener, Stilinski!  
Derek takes a step forward. “Yes. Tonight is the third time. Have you been coming long?”   
_He doesn’t know who I am._  
  
Stiles has. He’s been coming for over a year. It’s only really been interesting since the mystery man showed up, though. Stiles normally sits at the back and just listens. He rarely speaks. What truly helps him is to know that he isn’t alone in his pain. That’s what these groups are for, right? Support? It’s in the fucking name. 

  
The more he studies the guy, (who happens to be gorgeous, but that’s just an aside), the more something is familiar. Like meeting the boy you sat next to in second grade when you’re 20. It's an odd feeling. Something in his eyes triggers an emotional reaction in Stiles.   
  
Squinting isn’t helping memory. Derek probably thinks he's forgotten his glasses.   
  
“A while, yeah.” Greeting extended. “My name is Stiles.”   
The man is impressed at how good-looking Stiles has become. He’s tall with just the right amount of muscle. Lean but strong. Creamy, mole-speckled skin, just a hint of rose to his cheeks. Just like the child he recalls meeting a lifetime ago.  
He shakes his hand firmly.   
“Stilinski. Sheriff’s kid, right?”  
  
Stiles forgets to let go, continues the salute with a mouth slightly gaping.   
“I’m sorry, do I know you?”   
Okay, now the brunette is intrigued. Who is this?   
“Can I… maybe have my hand back and I’ll tell you?” The man grins.  
He’s amused at how adorable Stiles is.   
  
The brunette realizes he’s still grasping and returns it to its owner.   
“Oh shit, I’m sorry.”   
The owner with one of the most enchanting smiles he’s ever seen.   
  
The sudden loss of its warmth is disappointing. The church basement is particularly cold tonight.   
A lift of a black eyebrow. “You don’t remember me, do you?”   
It edges there, almost in sight. Like trying to conjure up a dream. Stiles shakes his head.   
“I’m sorry. You look familiar and I feel like I've known you my whole life...but I just can’t-“   
  
“I’m Derek. Derek Hale.”  
  
A gasp. Recognition ignites the caramel eyes studying him.  _Holy shit._  
“Oh my god! Derek?!”   
  
A sigh. He was the beautiful boy who sometimes came by the station.   
Now the memories trickle back, bits and pieces. The tragedy.   
He was young when it happened, but who didn’t hear about the Hale fire? Most of the family died. Young Derek, his sister Cora, and their uncle Peter were the only survivors.  
After the incident, they all disappeared. Last time Stiles had run into Derek in town, the man was a teenager.   
No wonder he didn’t put it together immediately.   
  
Derek, instead, could have spotted the Stilinski kid from a mile away and a decade passed. He still smelled the same.  
Derek never forgot how Stiles smelled. On the rare occasions his mother had had dealings with the law, she’d bring Derek and Cora along with her. Noah Stilinski’s son would spend a lot of time at the station. That’s when they first became acquainted. That’s when Derek memorized Stiles’ scent. His mate's scent.   
_It’s like smelling a juniper tree after the rain._  
Stiles was meant to be his mate. Derek's barely drawing breath from emotion.   
  
Stiles hooks a thumb into his pocket and scratches his head. There’s a sudden electricity in the air. It’s almost sizzling.   
“It’s nice to see you again, Stiles. You look quite different from the last time I saw you. But I would recognize you anywhere. You’ve grown into quite the handsome man. Who would have known, you were quite a quirky kid.”  
_And yet even then I loved you._  
  
The low vibration is buzzing in Stile’s ear.  _Oh holy god._  
  
_Anywhere,_ Derek muses.  _I’d recognize you anywhere. Even through the expanse of time._  
  
Derek Hale.   
Derek Hale called him handsome. Stiles’ throat has gone dry.   
Okay… now he’s blabbing.  
“It’s been so long, Derek. How are you? I never thought I’d meet you here. Had no idea you were back in Beacon. Yeah, I was pretty dorky back then. How is Peter and… Cora?”   
  
There was a picture in a book once, of Scottish highlands. Derek’s eyes are the same color, tinged with the identical melancholy that Stiles sees in his own.   
It’s called loss.   
_Fuck.  
_  
“Cora died, Stiles. I guess… I guess that’s why I’m here. I couldn’t stand being where we were happy once. I needed to come back to a place of pain, in order to exorcise the pain. I don’t know if that makes sense?”  
  
Stiles smiles and immediately wonders why the fuck he’s smiling. What is wrong with him?!  
It’s bereavement. He’s never been good at it. Ever. Not even now when his own anguish wrings his heart.   
  
“I’m sorry, Der. So sorry.”   
  
Stiles’ arm seeks to comfort before he realizes it, touches the soft cotton of the Henley Derek so fabulously fills out.   
Derek looks down at the hand, closing his own over it. He gives it a gentle squeeze. Stiles must have lost someone. This is why they are here after all.   
  
Stiles only had one person. Derek doesn’t have to ask.   
  
“Dad died last year. You know…”   
It’s like fiberglass is being shoved down his throat. He coughs. The tears well.   
“It was unexpected. I’m… I just didn’t know what to do without him. He was the only person in my life, you know, who ever loved me unconditionally. I felt so alone. And with Scott and Lydia and the others moving away and all. I had lost all my friends, and I was alone. I’ve still got Parrish, you don’t know him. He and I run the station now. But there’s such a hollow, Derek. Such a hollow. This group on some level seemed to alleviate just a bit of the sorrow.”  
  
Derek’s gaze is riveted to Stiles’ face. There’s a softness there Derek had never noticed before. The way his laugh lines crease just next to the mole on his cheek. It’s always the first side to rise when he smiles.   
A single tear escapes the corner of Stiles’ eye. Without hesitation Derek catches it with his thumb.   
  
At the back of a church basement, next to stale donuts and reheated coffee, something within the men breaks. In a pretend cellar in their minds, boxes are moved around. The one marked **LOVE** is towed to the front.  
  
“Would you like to get out of here?” Derek’s tone is nearly pleading.   
Stiles, hand still cocooned by Derek’s, simply nods in agreement.   
  
-  
  
Thirty minutes later Stiles is perched on Derek’s sofa, sipping on his second beer. He basically chugged the first one from nerves. The two are sitting close, despite the furniture sitting four.   
The apartment is spartan and dim. Only the essentials. A bed, a table, some chairs. Virtually no decorations.  
A crescent moon is the only bringer of light.   
  
The buzzing hasn’t stopped. It’s increased in volume and intensity and now Stiles can feel the vibration also in his dick.   
Derek steeples his hands in front of his pert lips, absorbing everything Stiles is telling him about the years missed in Beacon. It’s such a pleasure to listen to his voice, his exaggerated mannerisms reminding Derek of a little Stiles puppet.   
  
Derek lets the amber liquid flow down his parched throat. It won’t get him drunk, but it’s nice to partake.  
“A lot has happened since I left.”   
“That would be an understatement.” Stiles lets the beer sit a moment on his tongue before swallowing it. This kind is slightly bitter.   
  
“When did you return, Derek? Except for the meetings I haven’t seen you around.”  
Derek shifts, cradling his head in his palm. He’s fighting the urge to move closer.   
“I came back a month ago. I’ve been… settling in. Keeping to myself. Have to take care of a few things. Peter gave me power over our assets, so I’m basically in charge of our affairs now. Not sure yet if I’m staying. I guess I’d need a good enough reason.”   
  
When he says “reason,” Derek looks straight at Stiles. The boy gulps.  
The bees in Stiles’ head are in a frenzy.   
  
“Why did you stay, Stiles? You said all your friends left. Why did  _you_  stay?”  
  
“I mean, I left to go to college. But then, I don’t know. This place has a pull. And my Dad was here. I guess I missed the naturalness. I knew how to move, how to behave here. While out there… navigating those waters was very difficult. Sometimes I felt like I was drowning. And then…”   
The brunette reaches the bottom of the bottle. He wipes his cherry lips with the back of his hand.   
“Then Dad got sick, and I knew. I knew I’d never leave Beacon Hills again.”  
  
Now is the moment that Derek does inch over. “Again, I’m so sorry. Noah was such a good man. He helped my family a lot. Given what we were, he never made us feel like pariahs. Not like the rest of the townsfolk.”  
  
Wet butterscotch eyes watch as 10 fingers intertwine. Stiles’ cool skin meets Derek’s feverish touch.  
“You were told what we are, Stiles?”  
The brunette knows.  
  
“Yes. That wouldn’t be the strangest creature in our town, Der. Believe me.”  
“I guess not, from what you told me.”  
  
10 fingers laced. One hand moves to a knee. The light hits Stiles just right and his eyes glow gold.  
Derek, for a brief moment, remains paralyzed.  
_What if…?_  
  
“What happened to Cora, Derek?” It’s barely a whisper.   
Now it’s the turn of moss-eyes to cover in dew.   
  
“Car accident. South America. I was supposed to be driving, but I was late. She told me to meet her, decided to go on alone. It was dark. The roads there are awful, poorly lit. She got run off a cliff trying to avoid a freight truck. That’s it. In an instant my sister was gone.”   
  
Stiles increases his grip. “It wasn’t your fault, Der. You can’t know if you’d been driving… maybe you both would have died.”   
  
Derek lets out a long, low breath. Like releasing air from a tire.   
  
“I’ll never know now. I’ll carry the burden of my responsibility, regardless. It’s what we Hales do. Or, what’s left of us. Though being honest Peter never had much in him except for selfishness and vanity. Pride is definitely his favorite vice, right after lust.”  
  
The brunette finds boldness in the spirits flowing in his veins. He draws their digits near and lightly kisses the tops of Derek’s.   
“Now these three remain-faith, hope, and love.”   
  
The wolf raises two eyebrows. “Corinthians? Are you religious?”   
  
Stiles’ face registers surprise. “No. It’s just a truth. Are you, Der?”  
The elder chuckles. “No. Of all things I could define myself with, religious wouldn’t be one.”  
  
There is comfortable silence. Stiles becomes aware of the ticking of a clock in the other room. He can hear it above the ringing in his mind.   
The moon lacks luster, a pale light illuminating Derek as he leans forward.   
Stiles’ pulse is a metronome within him.   
  
He tips his head, cupping the brunette’s soft cheek. Stiles falls against him in an exhale. He’s been waiting for this for weeks. _Maybe longer?_  
  
The drag of Derek’s beard as their mouths open is rough, tongues frolicking. Stiles tastes like hops and he perfumes of juniper and it’s like kissing gin with a beer chaser.  
It’s inebriating.   
  
Everything means nothing, and nothing is what they have left. They find solace in their common emptiness.   
  
Stiles moans and Derek growls lowly. There’s a question, and an answer muttered into the darkness.  
Stiles is lifted and carried to the nearby bed.   
  
A fumbling. Eagerness. Need. Urgency.   
  
Four hands undoing buttons and zippers and pulling at fabric. When freed of their clothing, when Stiles finds himself on top of Derek, sucking on his jaw and spreading himself for the older man, the droning stops.   
Stiles’ mind knows quiet and all that’s left is their labored breathing and soft laments.   
  
Derek samples his flesh with the tip of his tongue, fingernails lingering on his ribs before caressing the soft mounds of the brunette’s ass.   
Stiles arches into him, guiding his sex to his opening. There is little foreplay. There is no time.  
  
Derek’s cock glides in with a gasp. It’s a bit dry, but soon enough both Stiles’ pucker and the tip of his member moisten.   
Derek’s flat palm aids Stiles in his movements, the younger testing his bounce until he finds just the right rhythm.   
  
“Stiles,” Derek sighs, “fuck.”   
  
Stiles has fisted the headboard, eyes closed and head thrown back in pleasure. The heat moves inside him, brushing his gland until his thighs are shaking from effort.   
“Der, I’m close. Please help me.” Stiles is begging. He bucks into the fingers around his shaft, Derek working Stiles to his release. The jerks are quick and short, close to the head.   
“So close,” Stiles mews. His toes curl.   
  
Derek murmurs “Come for me,” and Stiles obeys. He liquefies, twitching as cum leaks from him like molten lava, thick and milky in a pool near Derek’s bellybutton.  
“Oh Jesus, Derek. Fuck.”   
  
The clench makes the elder cum. It’s not something that rocks his body. It’s delicate. Polite almost. Like pouring warm oil over your skin and allowing it to drench you in its softening silkiness.  
“Stiles,” he sighs just as graciously against his lover’s ready lips.   
  
The orgasm fades, their panting sweaty bodies slowly breaking apart.

“Stiles.” The brunette centers.  
“Der?”  
  
How do you ask the impossible? When does impulse and desire overwhelm to the point of lunacy? (The use of the word very appropriate).  
  
Derek caresses Stiles’ face, their tummies stuck together from their fluids.  
“Earlier, there was a light… I thought… your eyes.”  
“What about my eyes?”  
Stiles’ heartbeat has picked up.  
  
The wolf is right under his skin. Scratching to get out.  
“Stiles, you had yellow eyes. It made me think… I just got you. We’ve just got each other back somehow. I know we were never together then, it would have been insane. But I knew. When I met you at the station that first time when I was a boy, I smelled you. It’s going to sound crazy, but I knew you were destined to be my mate. I told Cora that. I didn’t know when, but I was sure. I never forgot your scent. Ever. I never forgot _you_.”  
  
Stiles, for once, is left speechless. His pointy nose scrunches up, he’s half grinning. Derek loves him.   
“I don’t know what to say. Back then, I was just a kid. But to be honest… now… I mean two weeks ago when I saw you for the first time, I couldn’t take my eyes off of you. I’ve pretty much been worthless at work since. I don’t know what I would have done had you not shown up today. Probably gone looking for you from the sign-up sheet. I feel a connection, too, Der. I don’t know if that’s what you mean, but something has drawn me to you. All of this wasn’t a coincidence. It can’t be. I feel like I've been yours for an eternity already.”  
   
Lips are addictive, and Stiles’ definitely are. Derek kisses him deeply. Deep enough to breathe through their noses and be left winded when they pull apart.  
“I need to ask you something. I want you to please consider it. Don’t dismiss it right away.”  
“Yeah, sure? What it is Der?”  
  
The wolf pauses, bites into the corner of his mouth. One last hesitation.  
  
“Would you let me turn you? Would you be my mate? We have no family left, Stiles. We could be a pack. We could be together for a long time, without the worry of disease or normal aging. I just can’t bear the thought of losing you as well. Especially since you’re a deputy. What if something happened to you?! How could I go on?! I’ve been alone too long. So have you. Please think about it.”  
  
Honestly there isn’t much to consider. Every point Derek made makes sense.  
And Stiles is tired. Tired of the desolation. Tired of worrying. Tired of being tired.  
  
“Do it, Derek. Do it. I have nothing left to lose but you. I want to be with you. I want to be your mate. All this had a reason, a purpose. I believe it. We’re not the types to go to grief support meetings and yet there we were.”  
  
Derek’s eyes glow crimson. He sits up, Stiles practically in his lap.  
“Are you sure?”  
  
Stiles tilts his head, neck in offering. He quakes in anticipation.    
“I’m yours, Der. Please.”  
  
“I love you, Stiles.”  
  
Nothing is everything, and everything is what they have left.  
  
“I love you, too.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Today I found out a friend of mine passed away and so I needed to write away the pain. I'm sorry if this was sad or bad. It is what it is today. I probably wrote this more for me.  
> Godspeed, Carlos.  
> References to the lyrics from the Black Parade by MCR.


End file.
